December 7, 2007

i hope fsn/prime ticket west accepts my insurance

2007 and I have had a contentious relationship. Without going into too much detail, I had a minor breakdown and a slightly less minor career crisis; I realized, almost too late, that the field I had been pursuing for years wasn’t right for me. I had been treading water, and defeatist apathy butted heads with the terror of failure.

But I eventually worked it out. It took a lot of time, introspection and wine, but I know what I want to do. My family and friends helped me get through it, but my real crutch was baseball. I was always a casual sports fan (to the point I was branded a tom boy, or accused of trying to impress boys by watching ESPN. That, however, is another issue), but never followed any particular team or sport with any zeal. Up until this year, I was a part time Dodger fan, largely due to location and family influences. I followed enough to be happy when Fox put the franchise up for sale, perplexed when Frank McCourt bought the team (entirely with debt, I should add), and heartbroken/disgusted when the roster was gutted under DePodesta.

But this year, it became an obsession. At one point in July, I was Rainman, a statistical savant. There were games almost every day, and I think I watched every single home game, live or recorded, as well as the great majority of the away games. In all, I probably watched 6+ innings of 130 out of 162 games. Sick, no?

People complain about the slow pace of baseball, but there’s something soothing about the methodical nature of the sport. And because it is so driven by numbers and statistics, I could bury myself in them. The overwhelming minutiae was enough to temporarily erase any worries I had, and the superstitious ritualism was calming because of its predictability. Routine gets a bad rap for being monotonous and dull, but the stability it brings was exactly what I needed. As a child, there are fewer things more terrifying than a parent who falls out of routine. When I was 7 or so, my mother was sick (probably with a cold or flu), and couldn’t help me get ready for school. Although I couldn’t come close to articulating what I had felt at the time, I remember being petrified at how such a warm and inviting home suddenly seemed sterile and gray.

Ultimately, that’s what I needed. Routine. Isn’t it silly that someone who votes, drinks and pays taxes needs to be soothed like a child? Isn’t it even sillier that routine acts as a therapeutic agent? But as an adult, what worked ten, twenty years ago doesn’t necessarily hold. Surprisingly, baseball managed to do the trick.

And for that, I am grateful. The 2007 season was anything but a success, but you got me through. We both suffered through unnecessary drama, but face a (somewhat) promising future.